


in which he rises from the pit of despair

by PurpleMousse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Harry, M/M, Smart Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:27:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23492419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleMousse/pseuds/PurpleMousse
Summary: In which Harry Potter is bitter and harsh, does not forgive and forget. Abuse and betrayal is not let go nor so easily amended.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 3
Kudos: 53





	in which he rises from the pit of despair

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this listening to a constant loop of a sad song

Once upon a time, in a time long past, Harry Potter had once wondered why. Why? He didn't cry, didn't talk, didn't misbehave. What had garnered him such hatred and revulsion? The disgust that dominated his aunt and uncle’s gazes was so clear and harsh. He didn’t understand and so, foolishly, tried to amend it and behaved his best, did his best, worked his hardest. Harry was young and naive, innocent and gullible in his young age. Petunia and Vernon Dursley would not change, they would never change their ways. 

Harry doesn’t understand.

He continues to try and please his uncle and aunt. To maybe earn even a slightest bit of affection or care from his relatives, even a minuscule fraction of what Dudley received. He would’ve been satisfied at such, pleased and overjoyed at the smallest acknowledgement. Yet it never comes. No matter how perfectly Harry tends to the garden, how quiet he is and never disturbs, he cannot compare. His best and most perfect behavior would never ever compare to even one of Dudley’s worst and most tantrums. So, Harry cracks, just the smallest amount, a piece is chipped away under their yells and hits.

As Harry grows, as he ages, little parts are broken off. Every hit and every beating is a piece that vanishes, taking away but simultaneously, bringing understanding.

On Harry’s 5th birthday, he lays in his cupboard. The Dursleys had been kind that day, Harry had no work and all he had to do was stay inside and stay silent. Harry lays on his tattered mattress, hungry and thirsty, and just wishes, wishes with all his heart for a little miracle, for a little blessing and kindness. A small warmth.

And so with every fiber of his wishing, Harry witnesses a marvelous phenomenon. He sees a little flame appear and flicker within the air. It is small and weak, as if the tiniest sigh would blow it away. However, it is present and it brings warmth, it brings a small, foreign comfort within Harry’s chest. And with amazement in his eyes, Harry wills it.

For weeks after the discovery of his gift, Harry is careful to hide its existent and hide even further from his relatives’ gazes. He is mute and nonexistent in his presence. He takes his behavior and gains a bite more food. It is energy for him to practice with, to control his magic better and precise. Harry has learned that it takes will and concentration to utilize his gift. He wonders on the extent and limits of this power. He experiments. Growing the grass in the garden, freezing the water from the hose, levitating the soil, Harry tries everything he could possibly think of. In amazement, it seems like there is no end to what his magic cannot do or accomplishment. With this discovery, the preciousness of magic grows and becomes a guarded secret locked with chains in Harry’s heart.

Harry Potter is in pain. He is starving. He is dying, it is the only reason for which could explain this agony and internal that burns at every bruise and hit on his body. Harry had gotten careless in one of his nights of studying magic. He had practiced too late into the night, woken up too later, and catches Vernon Dursley in one of his moods. So it is only reasonable that Harry is the reason for all the troubles that plague this household, the stain on the Dursley’s perfectly normal and plebeian life. He is a freak. He deserves to be beaten, or so they say. Regardless, it had led them here, to now. Harry lays on the living room carpet, no inch of his skin not bruised or marred. It’s worst beating to date and leaves him trembling. Harry shivers and the edges of his vision is growing dark and he drowns. It leaves him breathless with despair and hopelessness. So, gazing into Vernon’s vicious eyes, he wishes and wishes and wishes with all his might. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. STOP. Vernon stops.

Time stops, Harry gasps for breathe. He lays on the carpet and watches as Vernon stands back and stills, eyes glazed. There is a little niggling in Harry’s mind and he tugs. And Vernon twitches. It takes a moment. Another moment. He understands. 

Harry does not move, but he wills it and commands Vernon to help him up and treat his wounds. As Vernon moves Harry to the recliner, Petunia descends the stairs. From the bedroom upstairs, she had come once the sounds of beating had stopped. She is undeniably shocked and moves to the two, confused but nevertheless glaring at Harry. He looks up and what he has done before, he does again. Dudley is out of the house and it leaves the three inhabitants alone and silent in the living room. Harry sits on the couch and gazes up at the two people that had made his life hell. He owes his pain and despair to them. They have made to him, the concept of happiness unknown. Harry Potter is not kind or forgiving, he is vindictive, he is vengeful. Petunia and Vernon Dursley, along with their spawn, will pay, with interest. 

For now he rests and recuperates. Harry lays on the sofa and contemplates. Petunia and Vernon are the kitchen, preparing a meal for him. Harry can feel the two links in his mind, slowly but surely weakening, he will need energy to renew it. So he waits. 

The Dursley household, silently but swiftly, changes.


End file.
